tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72993061157436025842016-09-08T00:32:49.618-04:00Postmodemismpart of a stylistic attempt to harness the ambiguity apparent in the divide between author and audienceSimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-82004680129148608212011-05-04T17:43:00.000-04:002011-05-04T17:43:36.305-04:00Echo and Narcissus
﻿Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-39833625775248207882010-10-14T19:11:00.001-04:002010-10-14T19:14:31.826-04:00On Negative: Illuminationas you have eyes (to see) set focus over this expanding scenelook [as the sun sees testing the neat edge of dawn] this light presses hands with splayed fingersfirmly over the
"﻿ ancient solid ground having been before existing and now birthed by knowing {a new world} one broken from the whole -first the sands .uncounted. spilling inwards to the (2.) shoots of long leafed grass and trace up the Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-55978124251571328032010-10-07T18:21:00.000-04:002010-10-07T18:21:35.215-04:00on negative: everything I am notAt Curtain: the sound uttered (nasal and with inflection) was the first name given [and adjectival preceding all nouns] and he named it before any other had provided for him the same appellate significance and so predicated [this thing] without predicate (non-no thing).
and before having known the second distinct from the first all had been [singular] he had not known himself apart from the Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-14431277361767686842010-09-20T11:23:00.000-04:002010-09-20T11:23:43.457-04:00on negative: the argumentwhat is most clear
[penned neatly and follwed by elipses]
~had become a constant of concern deep beneath these sinking brows~ that some image or thought might scream from its own device
.its very want for wanting. and the foolish demand [some function] and the loved assume the same
the loved - those loved (and wanting)Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-66561827830354072232010-04-11T19:14:00.000-04:002010-04-11T19:14:31.978-04:00house of fires01. traced caustic. traced frail. and withheld in dissolved refrain these sometime wishes caught fast in a flame let loose of the prayer and hollowed their theme to follow up this hopeful spire and utter fiercely {to their dreams} I once held these in cares these once were my replies and fell out this purpose for the lack of regard I stained graciously the mast feigned hopelessly the bow
}and Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-67284172866850554612010-03-03T16:25:00.000-05:002010-03-03T16:25:17.336-05:00echo and narcissusEcho and Narcissus
works (re)cited
echo and narcissus:
echo and narcissus
the angel's retort
the audience's realization
the twin's reunion
the death:
and the longing
and the dirty mirror
and the broken mirror
and the glass
the abandonment:
no more roses
fall
rise
the eternal:
the eternalSimonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-69572020241167818282010-01-06T21:23:00.006-05:002010-01-06T21:30:15.126-05:00The Eternal
".he's a fool who carves the stone."
-were the final words-
in silence we followed the city streets beneath the following moon
that bears down her accusing glow
and casts a borrowed light
too dim even for shadows to fall
and we see our solid skins
our single lines
me in hers
and her in my eyes
and yet continue on our path we share this route through empty streets between the Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-63938205947238137082009-12-03T13:46:00.000-05:002009-12-03T13:46:10.285-05:00the abandonment [rise]clash flesh against flash to sound that trebly roar from the palms of our hands to the high domed sky and look to the others who share our joy our tears our confusion our heart that cranks a rapid pace and plays the bass for the choir that plays reprise and pays the coin to feed the empty hand
and:
could he truly dare to speak those words as though they commence some completed thought that Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-7048739028499224092009-12-03T02:02:00.001-05:002009-12-03T12:29:13.959-05:00the abandonment [fall]"{and to see those faces awaiting the fall is a tragic scene for sure
as they know so well this
curtain weighs
so heavy
so ready
so willing
to sever this love designed to mimic
to play to play
;to come to play it says;
to beckon the fools to fill the roles
the longing to drill the holes
and to beg to bleed these pregnant souls
and hack this connection and stop}"
Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-66920003144075878022009-11-29T01:00:00.001-05:002009-12-03T02:03:03.813-05:00the abandonment [no more roses]no more roses they said and felt significantly it must be so no more roses to sow or sell or make spells and cast reverently into the skies no more roses they said and felt utterly so that this must be the last of the straws at the bottom of the cask no more roses they asked
not even for a coat to wrap around my chilly bones and cleave fretfully behind the roads not one they asked not even a Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-69020485606424123912009-11-23T21:06:00.002-05:002009-11-23T21:06:42.785-05:00Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-864700017326072892009-11-15T01:07:00.001-05:002009-11-15T01:20:46.215-05:00The Death [and the glass]when this world no longer turns but hangs dim in some other sky
when stories are mute and none promise ever to spin out from lapping tongues
these forms once draped in cotton and gold
(and rotten and mold)
now forgotten now old
(now cold, un-told, sold, the saddest most tantalizing ode)
collide.
amidst frozen stars these two again for one last time stretch out arms towards one another Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-42400820378386433852009-11-15T00:42:00.000-05:002009-11-15T00:42:09.536-05:00The Death [and the broken mirror]happily round the family tree / arrested in urgency
:the dry brown stalk stuck sadly from the ground so i dug with my fingernails into the earth around and saw as i sunk further the sprawling roots reaching wide and followed their spirals out and down into ever resounding schemes played freely in embarassed concern this mis-loved lament loved too truly the spoken words and waited too long for Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-37407262894224126752009-10-29T21:13:00.001-04:002009-11-06T14:39:45.930-05:00The Death [and the dirty mirror]beautiful both these faces {the identical masks of the twins} raise to the sky for once after this long gaze unbroken set straight from one to the same and in the glassy sea they strain to smile at a face they thought their own how could that possibly be me when i stand here by my side and the other says the same and at once they look away for fear of learning something new for all these many Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-9909472221064411192009-10-21T15:42:00.000-04:002009-10-21T15:42:27.403-04:00The Death [and the longing]..............................
when once blue skies lingered over the bay where war ships lay prone silent still no whispers wait pregnant in their bows the sailors sleep soundly in the gentl breeze {drifting in from subtle seas} and on their finger tips bring dreams of fantastic unity and each is foolish and happily unsaid those fears those regrets not here not yet "on some foreign shores let Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-48693198346672668942009-10-21T15:40:00.001-04:002009-10-26T01:35:19.099-04:00The Twin's Reuniontake to your comfy seat again and know you have no options left but to smile laugh clap and scream at the empty stage [enter ghosts left]
the pin rests heavy at some intersection where this line crosses that and its great arch passes over nimble tides and scratches curved lines on colored sheets fingers crossed it mumbles to itself as it draws this new line far far and further still from womb Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-12357120431119454032009-10-07T19:33:00.002-04:002009-10-07T19:40:07.534-04:00The Audience's Realizationand as these words came tumbling down they slowed their progress in mid fall and ran together to form a neumonic prayer in ryhme they cried its rendered in rhyme and done so thusly id addthus the former and in response the latter she called and see the metre too it greatly pleases meand enamoured they were excited and surprised for they felt renewed in gentler light and glared and loved and each Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-75871965373293565622009-10-07T19:31:00.000-04:002009-10-07T19:33:18.189-04:00The Angel's Retort>>the cog and the belt are slave and master both and each is angry at the other for leading him this way or that and still there is no resistance please spin gaily and pleasecomplete your motion and please stop and one pleads that the other slow down and neither knows who leads whom and sadly at rest when one is stiff or the other has snapped and yet you lay your woes upon me and i upon you Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-40731793338639126002009-10-01T14:08:00.000-04:002009-10-01T14:13:09.064-04:00echo and narcissusand thats really all there is to it she replied as he whittled the last of his wax into a thimble and barely audiable uttered the same reply in response and this did not calm the nerves of the twins as they slowly raised their heads to see eachother and themselves and they screamed instantly in the same voice youre more than enough and i have you here and you have me there and we cried as we Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-4215485810373097992009-09-24T16:57:00.000-04:002009-09-24T17:00:45.258-04:00works (re)citedHe made a motion but felt uneasy it seemed out of character to make these attempts at constructing monuments to some monument praising cycles for cycles it makes it harder when you place candles before the wooden steps and then back back back steps to see the whole structure marvelous in thought and jarring in contextuality where quality begets animosity and why shouldn’t it what kinds of happy Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-51358068787019857052009-02-02T22:57:00.001-05:002009-10-19T17:51:56.257-04:00would this art ask for faiththere is no honesty to this art and no truth told [old hearts yield selfish desires] this fire reeks cold like snow and like snow falls this beauty goes only down and underfoot is trodden into the earth never birthed or realized for what it wants to give for it gives only of its self like the old irish man told>this art speaks no deeper truth than that whichis revealed upon firstinspection<[Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-26546964584097572662009-02-01T17:32:00.002-05:002009-10-19T17:39:21.608-04:00on the veil::this image is for sale:: It’s the one from your dream last night youll find it difficult to recognize because it kept changing but it’s the one the same as her as him as it as they it’s the face that meats the face theres no grace mighty enough to reveal its identity for it is identity pure and true and few [or many] encounter and all will still agree that this face they knew that this Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-36744375801387350902008-10-27T18:08:00.003-04:002009-10-19T17:44:38.322-04:00fall/riseTwo: in the mindandone: in the bodyready for reaction always restrained and this is the lever that unclasps the remaining fret set hard against the body waiting for the empty strains heaving desperately beneath the all too stoic flesh fresh and burnt broken and betrayed waiting and waiting and waking early in the evening to the blinking sighing relief of wonder that here falls in the sky the sun Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-39208337007889021302008-09-12T20:22:00.000-04:002008-09-12T20:30:22.439-04:00anarchival funnelsent, there was a fearsome thought in the mind that rots the babel as in the one of antiquity and not the one of sound proof mystery and history and not in the same senses fences and then to go back and deltreeeeee all this nonsense about finance and the trance that held uop the opening lines to all those holy rites that baegan with this is and should and always will and though they never could Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7299306115743602584.post-78468658845974747002008-09-04T19:56:00.000-04:002008-09-04T20:07:16.113-04:00Treadingwalking. walking with a slow. stop. statements such as these promote illicit rhymes dangling delcately from edges of (crimes, times, lines, signs, fines, tynes, ed gein's) lines. tell them this tell them that this is the last word that floats aimlessly towards the piles of grimey literature and philosophy oozing with chagrin dead and soaked in death praying up to themselves laughing down in Simonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16499132143087125302noreply@blogger.com0